


If You'll Have Me I'll Take What I Can Get

by Monsterultranosugar



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5 years post war, AU where everyone who could be recruited was recruited, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Sylvain Jose Gautier, Canon Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Character Death, Oral Sex, Past Lysithea/Felix, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sylvains skirt chasing hoe days have caught up with him, Top Felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22719697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterultranosugar/pseuds/Monsterultranosugar
Summary: At the end of the war Felix disappeared. Leaving without a word or a trace. Sylvain has worried for five long years what has become of him.He tracks him down.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 195





	If You'll Have Me I'll Take What I Can Get

**Author's Note:**

> A fipple flute is the fancy name for a recorder. You'll understand why I'm telling you this later.  
> I really wanted to make a fic revolving around how most of Felix's not Blue Lions route are terribly sad and this idea popped into my head. Sylvain of course has a small battalion of kids. His hoeing days were too powerful.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Lucien doesn’t bother to knock on the door, just walks in like he owns the place. He stands in the middle of the office, arms crossed over his chest and blows a stray strand of his fringe out of his face. Sylvain had become accustomed to this brooding angst he’d taken on once hormones and growth spurts hit the kid. He wished he could say Lucien had been a sweet boy but the truth was that he’d shown up at his door five years ago after Sylvain took his title, the tiny red head carried with him a piercing glare and a last will and testament from his mother naming the Margrave Gautier as his father.

Sylvain was not exactly shocked but still, the news that he managed to father a child at only fifteen – the same age as his son was today – it had definitely been at least a bit of a surprise to say the least.

After that more burgundy haired children seemed to stream into his estate, all between the ages of five and fifteen by now. After the war ended and Sylvain found himself with several bundles of _joy_ he cleaned up his act, or rather found his time far too occupied for any _activities_. There were ten little Gautiers that he _knew_ about. For all he knew there could be more. And they were definitely his, he had sent for Lindhardt to test their blood and each time it always came back positive.

Most of the children liked Sylvain, he thought he was a pretty good dad if he said so himself. He tried to spend time with each one as best he could manage but it was difficult to juggle them all and his own duties. Servants would joke that “the cavalry is coming” when he takes them out horse riding together or on walks through the woods nearby. All of them had to take a buddy, five sets of two was much easier to track than ten sets of one. Family outings were a nice break from work, though his eldest son had to be dragged from his quarters hissing at the sunlight almost every time.

Currently, Soliel was playing with Genevieve near his desk, rhythmically slapping their hands together. He liked the youngest children best, not that he didn’t love all his children – even Lucien, but the older ones always held some resentment towards him for his absence. Not that he held it against them particularly. His own father never seemed to give him the time of day, so he made an effort for them, trying to make up for lost time. Mostly, it worked. He secretly kept a diary to keep track of their likes, dislikes and aspirations. Sebastien wanted to be a Pegasus Knight and Sylvain resolved to find a Pegasus that would accept a male rider if it was truly what he wanted, meanwhile Lavender (he cringed at the name but by the time she showed up she was too old to change it) simply wanted to _be_ a wyvern.

The almost all of them want to be knights of some variety with a few exceptions, Aurora was absolutely smitten the time Lindhardt was summoned to deal with her terrible bout pneumonia. She was very resolute that she wanted to become a great healer just like him. Sylvain refrained from informing her that Lindhardt was more a scholar than anything who just did discreet healing on the side for sensitive matters pertaining to his friends.

Lucien was set to enrol into a magic school in Enbarr the following year after declaring his intention to become a dark mage. His self-taught practice of it had already damaged his hands but he refused to wear gloves to hide his stained fingertips because “everyone knows the effects of dark magic. Everyone knows I practice it. Thus, they would all be aware what will become of my hands. I have no need to hide because they cannot face a reality they find off putting.” Sylvain had shrugged and clapped him on the back, commended his fierce spirit and wished him the best. The irony of a boy named Lucien studying dark magic had not escaped him and he would snicker about it when his son acted a little too angsty.

Sylvain looked up from his papers, mostly letters pertaining to land disputes along the Sreng region, though nowhere near as many complaints as he had dealt with in the past. “I see you’ve arrived. In your own time of course.”

“I am busy.”

“I’m sure. I hope you’re not attempting to blow up Andrea again. He likes you far too much. You’d miss him if you succeeded.”

“That was an accident, father.” Lucien frowned at the floor.

“A joke, Lucien. I know you’d never truly try to hurt your siblings.” Sylvain gave him a soft smile. He was too serious for his own good. “Which is partially why I’ve called you here.”

“Is something the matter?”

“Ah, no, nothing to worry about. I just have business to attend to in Charon. I will be gone for some time and it’s a long journey there and back. I was hoping you would be willing to take on a few of my duties. I’ve hired extra servants for while I’ll be away. I wouldn’t leave the hoard to you alone.” He laughed. “It won’t be much work, promise. Mostly handling small border disputes. I made a flow chart. It’s very comprehensive.” Becoming the Margrave had not come easily. Sylvain’s father never taught him what his duties were, only made sure he knew that had it not been for his crest he would not be worthy of them.

“Understood. Is that all?” Lucien was already turning to exit his father’s office.

“Wait! I have things… stuff you’ll need.” Lucien raised one of those overly groomed eyebrows at him.

Sylvain was rattling through his draws pulling out various notebooks and planners, trying to find the correct ones.

“This one is about scheduled family outings. I expect that you’ll see to them happening even when I’m gone. If either Sebastian or Soliel miss their biweekly horseback ride they will be uncontrollable for days.” Beside him he saw the child nod in agreement. He then pointed to a blue book. “This one details upcoming appointments, music lessons, and training incursions. I know you’ll say send a nanny, but Aurora needs familiar people around her or she won’t go to any of them. You know check-ups are scary for her and doctors are an insensitive lot.” He then picked up a brown leather book with gold trim and staggered chunks cut out along the edge to mark out sections. “And this contains charts and instructions on how to handle various political or social problems should they require immediate attention. I won’t be reachable for the duration of my trip.” Lucien took the notebook, flipped to a random page and read aloud.

“Is the farmer – farmer in quotation marks - crying – yes or no.” He traced a finger along the arrow pointing from ‘no’ “It’s probably not that bad. They’re just complaining.” The page was title ‘Landowners disputing Taxation’.

Lucien continued, now tracing the yes path. “Is the person crying any part of the Harcourt family? If yes – ignore them and tell them to leave. They’re whining, thieving sons of bitches who just want to squeeze out a few extra coins and can turn of the water works at the drop of a hat.” Once again that single perfect eyebrow raised.

“Judge me after you have to deal with them yourself.” Sylvain tired of their endless complaining and scheming, thrice they had come before him trying to argue that part of their neighbour’s land was in fact their own, and it was all one big administrational error from years past. He knew he had a reputation for not being the most proper or intelligent noble but really that was just insulting.

“I know that you wouldn’t do this. But lords will start bombarding you with messages the moment I leave Gautier lands with you in charge because y’know you’re young and they’re a bunch of vipers who eat babies. Some of them can be quite persuasive or threatening but do not – and I cannot stress this enough – do not betroth any of your siblings – or yourself until I get back. Please.”

The look Lucien was giving Sylvain read strongly of ‘are you kidding me’ and Sylvain just pulled his neck back, grimaced, and shrugged with his palms up.

“Duly noted, when are you going?”

“You make it sound like you want me to leave. Maybe I ought to stay?”

“Father please do not cancel your plans on my account!” Sylvain smirked. Oh to be fifteen and trying to push your father out the door, excited at the taste of independence. _Enjoy independently caring for nine children, three of which on the cusp of puberty._

“Don’t look so panicked Luci. I leave in two days’ time. I will need to say goodbye to all your siblings tonight and they will surely need the second day to come out of sulking and see me off properly.” Sebastien and Aurora were sure to be the worst. They would often literally attach themselves to him, clinging to his boots as he kept walking to whatever business he needed to attend to. It had become well understood that one could scarcely attempt to conduct any lengthy negotiations with the Margrave Gautier without one of his brood tugging on his sleeve or sitting in a corner reading.

“Can I go back to my room now?”

“You may go back to your room.” And before Sylvain could even finish the sentence his son had already left.

Soliel and Genevieve looked up at him, having stopped their games to listen. He supposed it mattered not if they found out about his leaving now or over dinner. They were on the smarter more rational side of the scale. Most of the time.

“Why are you going to Charon?” Genevieve asked. Voice quiet and worried, she never liked when he had to leave but she accepted it and would show him all the pictures she drew while he was gone when he came back. They were terrible but Sylvain figured that if he acted like they were masterpieces the validation would fuel her to keep drawing until actual skills developed. Also, it was sweet.

“I need to go see an old friend. It’s been a long time and he was… he was in a really bad place after the war ended. I half thought he was dead.”

“Oooo, what if he’s a ghost?” Soliel commented, waving her arms about to be spooky.

Sylvain tried to laugh but the sound wasn’t quite right. “I certainly hope not.”

“It’s okay papa, even if he is a ghost you can still talk to him over tea. He just can’t drink it.” Genevieve noted his discomfort, she was trying her best to be optimistic.

Sylvain gave a small smile and went back to reading his letters and drafting responses.

He told the rest of his children that he was leaving soon and to listen to their brother, Lucien’s in charge. A few of the younger ones cried. He had to let them crowd his bed that night because they said they had nightmares. He took them all on a hike through the woods the following day, Lucien and Lavender brought a mushroom identification guide. One collecting the poisonous ones for… whatever he did in his room all day, the other excited by the prospect of “wild” food. He cleared his schedule to make room before he hit the road for quality time. He had tea parties and watched an improvised play made by Andrea who had roped Lucien into playing a very gloomy pirate captain.

It was a wonderful day and he was loath to see it end.

But he needed to be sure that Felix was alive, needed to see it with his own eyes.

The day the war officially ended Felix said nothing. Only waited until the speeches at the celebratory feast finished, then stood from his chair and without even glancing at a single person, he left the room. He had been so quick and casual. Sylvain had assumed he had left momentarily for fresh air and would be back any second now. But hours passed and Felix didn’t come back. He left his coat on the back of his chair.

No one heard from him, not even the Professor. Eventually word spread of a blood thirsty mercenary who took jobs indiscriminately without care for his own life. He was described as a silent angry demon. Just as quick as the rumours emerged, they died. Suddenly nothing was to be heard about the mercenary. Sylvain pulled at leads but all ran into dead ends. No one knew where Felix was or if he was even alive.

That was until recently. Sylvain had received invitation to Hubert and Ferdinand’s coming wedding. The event was too be a reunion of the Black Eagle Strikeforce. It struck Sylvain that if anyone knew where Felix was it was Edelgard’s creepy watchdog who could tell you, if he so desired, anything from the last place anyone in the empire left their keys right through to the amount of interest expressed for your assassination tracked on a graph correlating it with unseasonal weather in your territory. Ferdinand had shown him the graph last time he was in Enbarr. Sylvain asked how he could possibly love the man and the reply had been “how much care, effort and dedication do you think went into this? I shall have it framed, I think.”

It had pained Sylvain immensely to reach out to Hubert. He knew he’d owe him a favour and with a man like Hubert that was a terrible thing to owe. Unexpectedly, Hubert had agreed to send any relevant information his way. A few weeks later he received a letter and a map of Charon as well as Hubert calling in his favour – a pair of Gautier steads, if they did not reach Ferdinand’s standard Hubert stated his intensions to send them back until Sylvain found a suitable replacement. Apparently, Ferdinand had taken to breeding and raising horses as a hobby.

His journey took him deep into the woods of Charon, two hours ride of the nearest backwater town if the weather permitted and you knew exactly where to go. By the time he arrived the world around Sylvain had gone completely dark. He knew he could have waited in the town, stayed the night and set off at light but knowing he was so close after all those years of wondering kept him from doing so.

The cottage was oddly large all things considered. Two stories tall, a small tamed garden to the front with an arch shaped wooden door. It was made from thick sturdy stone. Light glowed from a single window. Sylvain’s heart pounded in his chest. He felt far too warm in his riding leathers as he tethered his horse to the front gate. He carefully inspected the small gate, finding the latch was rigged with something he couldn’t see in the dark. He hopped over it. Sylvain stayed close to the ground in a crouch, avoiding no less than three tripwires set across the short narrow cobbled path. When he reached the door he just stood for a moment, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

It had been five long years. He’d thought Felix was dead. Near the end of the war Felix became distant. No one could talk to him, anytime Sylvain tried all he got was the rhythmic thwacking of his sword hitting a training dummy and silence. He was passably polite to the professor and that was the extent of his communication. He stopped taking meals with the rest of the strikeforce after Arianrhod. He hadn’t cared anymore, about life or winning. The only thing that mattered was where he could drive his blade next.

Sylvain waited just a moment longer. One more minute was a drop in their five years of separation. Took one more deep breath and then knocked unsurely on the door.

He heard soft footsteps and shuffling. He could hear objects being moved about near the doorway. When it opened a man stood before him, sword held defensively, ready to strike.

“What do you want?” His voice was tight. Head looking down before tilting up just enough for him to see Sylvain’s face. Shock took hold of his features. Sylvain couldn’t help but notice his hair was pulled back neatly, a few strands escaping to his face. More like when he was at Garreg Mach. It was nice.

Sylvain had tried to prepare something to say during his days traveling. Tried to come up with a good reason for tracking him down or how to put into words his betrayal and anger and sadness about Felix’s sudden departure. Or the fact he never wrote. Never even tried to tell him he was at least not dead in a ditch somewhere. That he threw away years of friendship like it was _nothing._ Anything would have been better – Flames! If Felix had come in the middle of some dreadful night to assassinate him it would have at least been _something_.

Words failed him.

“Sylvain…” They apparently failed Felix too.

His voice was gentle and soft and quietly alarmed. It was too much.

Sylvain had no sense of self preservation. He weaved out of the way of Felix’s pointed sword and took him into a bone crushing hug. Felix was completely frozen in his embrace. Sylvain murmured “you’re alive. You’re alive.” Into his hair.

A weight he’d been carrying for five years was lifted. Sylvain couldn’t care less in that moment if Felix hated him for finding him or if he was yelled at and told to leave. It didn’t matter. _Felix is alive. He didn’t get himself killed and he smells like bread instead of death!_

Sylvain peeled himself away and stated with all the confidence he could muster “I’m coming in.” Felix made no move to welcome him nor stop him. Sylvain pushed past his figure into the cottage, Felix sighing and shutting the door.

“I guess you’ll just do whatever you want. I’m busy in the kitchen. You can follow or don’t.” He put the sword haphazardly into a tall basket near the door and walked to a room that stemmed from the side of the living room.

Sylvain followed him. He hadn’t come all this way to sit on Felix’s couch and be ignored whilst he did whatever he does these days.

In the kitchen Felix was already stirring a bowl. Sylvain could smell something was in the oven. Sugar and flour were spread all across the hard stone bench.

“You’re baking?” Sylvain could feel his eyebrows trying to connect themselves to his hairline.

Felix grunted. “I do that now.”

“Why?”

“Food.”

“You don’t like cakes.”

“Other people do.”

“Like who?”

_Silence._

“Fine.” Sylvain huffed. He sat down on a nearby stool and watched Felix work. It must have been past midnight.

Felix continued without another word. He paused his attention on the mixture, shifting his focus to whatever was in the oven. He took out several cake tins and left them to cool on a rack.

“What have you been doing all this time?” Sylvain’s voice was tight. He had wondered it frequently.

“Baking.” Felix returned to his mixture, he cracked a few eggs in a separate bowl, only keeping the whites and putting the yokes off to the side. He whisked it aggressively.

“Is that all?”

“Yes”. He continued to beat the egg whites without so much as a glance to Sylvain.

“Will you at least talk to me?”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

A few more minutes passed between them. Felix paused and briefly Sylvain hoped he’d say something but instead he just brushed a few strands of hair back behind his ear and returned to his task.

Sylvain had had enough. He stepped off the stool and walked around the counter, grabbed the bowl out of Felix’s arms and put it on the surface.

“What do you want?” Felix glared at the ground as he spoke.

“I wanted to see you.” Sylvain sounded as though he were pleading.

“Well here I am.” His arms lifted to emphasise his point.

“Could you at least look at me? Just once.” Not pleading, _begging._

“No.” Firm and quiet.

“Why not!” Sylvain shouted. Felix moved like lightning, hand over his mouth.

“Be quiet you oaf.” He hissed.

So, there was someone else in the house.

“Then have the decency to answer me if you won’t look me in the eye.” He hissed back.

The silence between them felt loaded. A tense and terrible thing. Felix’s eyes remained trained to the floor.

“ _Because I_ _can’t._ ” it came out as a whisper.

And oh, that hurt. Sylvain didn’t even know why.

“Please Felix… I just want to know…” _where you’ve been. Who you are now. Why you can’t even look in my direction for longer than a second. Who else is in the house._

He brought a hand to Felix’s jaw, gently guiding it up.

“ _Because it hurts.”_ Those words, the way Felix _finally_ looks into his eyes, the way he trembles just a bit, it pierces Sylvain.

He keeps his hand on his jaw. “why?” he rasps.

Felix closes his eyes and keeps his mouth shut.

Sylvain won’t be shut out. Not now, not after being shut out so thoroughly and completely for so damn long.

He leans closer into Felix’s space. Keeps his hand cupping Felix’s jaw. And whispers “Please Felix. I just need to know.”

Felix shakes his head, eyes still closed. Sylvain pleads again. Strokes a thumb along his cheek. It’s been so long since Felix has felt any tenderness. So long since he’s seen Sylvain or anyone beside the other occupant in the cottage. But that was different.

A dam breaks when Felix opens his eyes and sees Sylvain’s staring back filled with such intense sorrow and longing.

“When I look at you, do you know what I see?” Felix inhaled sharply. “The war. I see all the people we knew, struck down. Dimitri’s descent into madness. _My father._ How can you expect me to look at you?” Sylvain can see Felix caving in on himself. Repressed emotions surfacing after being pushed down too long.

He doesn’t know what to say and all that comes out is a meek “Sorry.” Felix just shakes his head.

“Is that why you left?” Sylvain wants to take Felix’s hand but he couldn’t handle being pushed away. So he just stays, cupping his face. It’s a miracle Felix didn’t bat his hand away as it is.

“I had nothing left. I killed my own father. I disgraced him. I thought I didn’t care. I was wrong.” Felix was definitely shaking at that point.

“It was war. He was fighting on the wrong side.”  
“That doesn’t make it easier.” It comes out as a breath. Sylvain thinks Felix’s eyes are shinning too much, but he hasn’t seen him cry since they were kid. No it must just be lighting. Or dust.

“I was still there. I could have helped you. You could have talked to me.”

“I didn’t think to. All I wanted was the next fight. And I for it to be over.”

“Wanted what to be over?” _the war? The grief? The killing?_

“Life.” He hisses. Sylvain’s eyes widen. He wasn’t like Felix. A tear rolled down his face. He couldn’t keep them back once he felt them, couldn’t supress his emotions like he was taught he was meant to as a man.

Felix makes a small noise, near a laugh but not quite. “It’s why I became a mercenary.” As though this should be comforting.

Sylvain knew at some point he was one. He had hoped it was because he had an unquenchable thirst for battle, not a death wish. It was Sylvain’s turn to try to laugh, instead he hiccups. “You don’t seem much like a mercenary to me.”

“She saved me.”

Sylvain doesn’t know who this girl is but he wants to thank her. He wondered if she was upstairs sleeping while Felix worked by himself in the kitchen.

“But she’s gone now too.” Something in the tone of his voice tells Sylvain she didn’t leave. That she was buried somewhere. He doesn’t think, just acts. He holds Felix in his arms and Felix holds him back. He hides his face against Sylvain’s shoulder. Trembling. Breaths shaky. Sylvain strokes his hand on Felix’s back.

He wants to ask him more questions. There’s too much he doesn’t know. He wants to tell Felix it’ll be okay but how can he when he doesn’t have a clue what Felix’s life looks like anymore. So, they just hold each other while the egg whites deflate and the cakes cool down in the brisk night air.

Felix is the first to pull away. His eyes were now rimmed red. He was back to staring at the floor. “You should rest. It must have been a long journey. I won’t be done here for quite some time.”

Sylvain doesn’t leave. It would feel like admitting defeat. Instead he asks if he could help but Felix just gives a weak laugh and shakes his head. “You wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I could stir.” Sylvain attempts a charming smile but its too difficult.

“Your technique was terrible before. I doubt much has changed.” Felix resumes his whisking.

Sylvain falls asleep at the counter. He rudely awakens after he falls off his stool sometime in the early morning, Felix had long since cleaned and left the kitchen. A large ornate cake sat on the bench with a note scrawled in scratchy almost illegible handwriting “Do not touch.”

Sylvain goes back to sleep on the couch in the next room over, stretching out all his cricked sore bones and rolling into it.

When next he wakes the sun is high in the sky and Sylvain knows the afternoon has already come. A breeze drifts through the cottage, he follows it to the open back door. He counts seven locking mechanisms as well as multiple magic runes carved into it. He wondered if Felix used magic more since putting down his sword, or if this too was another relic from a different time. Then again, he had only really metaphorically put down it down. One was still very much strapped to his person at all times, it seemed.

Felix was tending to the vegetable patch contained in his fenced off yard. The area was large, sprawling, containing fruit trees as well as a small sectioned off area where chickens could be seen happily pecking the ground.

A small figure in an enormous wide brimmed hat sat in the dirt beside Felix, content to dig their hands into the mud and feel the texture of it oozing through their hands. Sylvain leaned against the doorframe, watching the domestic nature of the scene and once again thanking the Goddess Felix hadn’t fulfilled his death wish.

“Hey.”

Felix made a noise of acknowledgement, carrying on his pruning and planting. The little person behind him turned, bewilderment evident on their face. Felix sighed and turned as well.

“Merchant?” The child asked in a tiny voice. Felix shook his head.

“A friend.” He replied.

 _A friend._ Something pinched in Sylvain’s chest.

This only seemed to confuse the toddler even more. They moved to hide behind Felix.

Sylvain knelt in the dirt and smiled at the child. “I’m Sylvain. Felix and me go way back. We must have met when we were your age.”

Sylvain found you never knew how much information a young child would absorb but talking to them with a gentle tone in full sentences always worked on his kids when they were young. Baby talk lead to more tilted heads and puzzlement. He held out his right hand. The child stared at it.

“Like this Glenn.” Felix took Sylvain’s hand and shook it firmly exactly once. “Go on.”

Slowly Glenn grasped Sylvain’s thumb and hesitantly pulled it down before scurrying back to Felix.

“He hasn’t met many people.” Felix supplied. “The only visitor we get is the merchant who takes the cakes and sells them for me. I guess he just assumed anyone who isn’t his father must be a merchant.”

Sylvain gives the kid a look up and down, inspecting his features. He’s paler than most people. Strange blue eyes. Weirdly translucent. At first he thought he didn’t have eyebrows, before quickly realising they were there but almost invisible. White. A tuft of hair was visible from under his hat had escaped. Definitely white hair. Despite his colouring he had Felix’s features, all sharp lines that would emerge from youth’s chubbiness one day.

“You named him Glenn.” It surprised him.

“Lysithea insisted. Thought it was a good way to celebrate life or give a second life. Something like that.” And that surprises Sylvain a little more. Last night Felix never mentioned her name.

“I heard her hair um… wasn’t originally like that.” When Edelgard made clear her thoughts on crests she had also released public reports pertaining to crest experimentation lead by disposed of nobles.

“It wasn’t. Somethings were hereditary. Others weren’t.” Felix turned away from Sylvain and returned to tending his plants. After minute he angled toward Glenn. “Go back inside, you’ve had enough sun for today.” Glenn understood and waddled away.

“A side effect. He can’t be outdoors for long. I suspect his eyesight is weak as well. I’m sure a healer can fix it to a point but he’ll probably still need glasses.”

“Oh, one of my kids had to have her eye’s done. It worked out pretty well. Lindhadt’s been dabbling in a lot of things nowadays.” He almost felt bad for how often he’d summon him to Gautier. Sylvain now sat in the dirt watching Felix’s hands work.

“Of course you have kids. Who’s the unlucky lady?” Felix was avoiding his eyes again but it felt more like his classic avoidance of eye contact opposed to something personal.

“If I recall correctly Amelia’s mother was a minor noble woman who’s new husband decided he didn’t want her bastard hanging around polluting the line of inheritance.” Sylvain couldn’t for the life of him understand how she could give her up. It was the same story for both Valentin and Gabriel. All under five when they arrived at his door with signed letters from different newly wed noble women Sylvain had met at some point. All three were so terribly quiet compared to the others, as though they were worried the slightest peep would get them in trouble.

Ah nobles and their ideas of appropriate discipline. If they ever wanted custody back they could pry it from Sylvain’s cold dead hands.

“How many are there?”

“Ten little Gautiers are waiting for me to come home.” He snorted. “Actually, its more like nine little Gautiers and one moderately sized one probably wishing I wouldn’t come back.”

Felix laughed. Actually laughed. The image of Sylvain trying to juggle that many kids was really something. It bubbled out from his chest. “I always told you your ceaseless skirt chasing would catch up with you eventually.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” It was a nice life. There was always love and company scurrying around him, wriggling under his desk or hiding in his wardrobe when he least expected it. Screechy violins and clumsy piano and Lucien’s flute closely followed by Andrea’s fipple flute constantly echoed through the halls of Sylvain’s lonely childhood. He learnt fast there was a major difference between flute and fipple flute. For instance, the flute was a musical instrument, the fipple flute was a torture device crafted specifically to cause ears to bleed.

“I can’t say I’m not surprised you’ve taken so well to them. I never imagined that for you.”

“Lucien was the first to arrive. Right after the war ended. Ten years old, mother recently dead from illness. We both had nothing.” Sylvain snorts again. “I doubt he would appreciate me saying so but he gave me purpose. And then all the others started to arrive when word got out I’d legitimised him.”

Felix doesn’t say anything for a long moment, hands stilling in the dirt before looking up in shock. “You dog! Fathering a child at fifteen.” He shook his head and Sylvain gave a warm chuckle.

“Hey! I get enough of that from him! I don’t need it from you too!” he clutched a hand to his chest. Mocked offence. By now Sylvain was used to it. Many ministers and lords had made snide comments both to his face and behind his back. He shrugged it off, they were just jealous that he was more _potent_ than them. And that his kids were more impressive in every conceivable manner.

“I guess you played yourself.” Felix smiled a small smile to himself.

“How so?”

“You were always so pissed off about the idea that you would be used to create a bunch of crest babies. Now look at all your crest babies.” He grinned more openly, it warmed Sylvain indescribably to see it.

“I honestly have no idea. I won’t let them be tested. I don’t want them to feel unequal. What about Glenn? You went and crest babied yourself as well.”

The smile slipped away and Sylvain instantly regretted even saying anything. They were finally having a nice time and he ruined it.

“I made Lysithea have him tested. When he came out with white hair we were both scared. I told you she wanted to name him Glenn. I told her I wasn’t about to give his name to another kid who gets taken before their time.” He clutched his spade in a white knuckled grip. “One crest. Major crest of Charon.”

“I’m sure it was a great relief.” Secretly Sylvain had wondered how much Glenn had inherited.

They sat in silence. Sylvain was willing to wait until Felix wanted to talk or he was content to sit in the sun next to his friend. To bask in his presence.

“I’m happy it was hers.” Felix moved to a fruit tree across the yard, picking a few apples. “Crests are meaningless, but it’s like a piece of her is still here.” He pelted an apple at Sylvain, straight at his face. He caught it before it could hit it’s target. “She taught me life meant something. Live the best you can. That’s what matters.” A stray chicken escaped the pen and was attacking Sylvain’s feet. When he shooed it the beast remained unbothered and continued her assault.

The rest of the day drifted by idly. Anytime Sylvain reached for a tool he found it kicked away from him with a stern warning not to touch anything. He tended to his horse and brought it into the back yard. Felix was not pleased to see it tread through his house and complained about it damaging the floors. Sylvain said he was the idiot in a house with a backyard only accessible through the house so it was his own fault.

Sylvain went indoors for a few hours and read aloud from the small bookshelf in the same room as Glenn. Eventually the kid became intrigued enough to sit closer to Sylvain and listen raptly. Glenn didn’t talk and maybe he was a little young but the vast majority for Sylvain’s spawn were ready to fight for attention whether or not there was competition. He suspected Felix rarely talked much these days. Probably just pointed at things and nodded at each other. His vocal cords must have received their biggest work out in years.

After Glenn was put to bed Felix went back to the kitchen and started to pull out various ingredients and cooking tools.

“Do you do this every night?” It was strange. Sure, kids went to bed early but Felix looked like he was setting up to be working until the early morning.

“Yes.” A flat one note word.

“Why?” Sylvain tilted his head to the side and eyed all the bowls and long spoons and what not.

“The merchant is coming tomorrow. I have orders to fill. I can only grow so much food. Regular people have to work for a living. Shocking, I know.” He untied his hair while he spoke, then retied it more securely.

“I could help so it gets done faster.” But Felix only shook his head in response.

“You couldn’t do it right. No one would ever commission me again. My reputation would be in ruins.” He was measuring out ingredients as he spoke.

It was then that Sylvain noticed the darkness under his eyes. A vein could be seen just barely, in the corner of his lower eye lid.

“And what reputation is that? An anonymous midnight baker who can only be found using only select channels who makes magical woods cakes for any occasion?” he teased.

“Pretty much. I’m the only one with Lysithea’s recipes. Her cakes are famously impossible to imitate.” Felix spoke with a hint of pride.

“Is the secret ingredient dark magic?”

_Pause._

“ _It is! Isn’t it!”_

“It’s not poisonous.” Felix stated, slightly indignantly.

Sylvain raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not.”

Sylvain made a grab for Felix’s hand to inspect it. Turning it over, looking for the typical inky stains it left on the skin or black veins. Felix pulled his hand back with a jerk. They were completely clean.

“How do you prevent damage?” All dark magic users had it. Dorothea found ways to work elbow length gloves into the costuming for the first three years after the war until the damage could rescind to just her fingertips. She’d given up using it the moment she was no longer required for combat.

Felix picked up a cake pan and held it up so Sylvain could see the base. Runes were scrawled across it.

“I only use enough to taste. The magic is in the objects. I don’t have to personally channel it.”

_To taste?_

“Dark magic… as a flavour?” Sylvain tilted his head. In his life he had drunk many potions, never had any infused with dark magic been even remotely pleasant but he assumed it was the frankly _weird shit_ they were made from. “It has a flavour?” 

“If it has a smell it has a flavour.” That made more sense. Dark magic did have a distinct smell. Something sweet but bitter, almost alike to rotting fruit and alcohol. It was most potent when a mage was wounded, emanating from their corrupted blood.

“And people like it?” Sylvain found it hard to imagine.

“In small doses. Mostly it’s a good preservative.” Felix worked on combining ingredients in a metal bowl and now that Sylvain was looking for it he could see small scratchy carvings along the rim.

Felix worked in silenced for at least half an hour before Sylvain felt the need to fill the void.

“It’s a shame. I was hoping you could tell me how to prevent dark magic damage.” Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck and huffed a little laugh.

It caught his attention, Felix briefly glanced up from his work at Sylvain.

“My oldest wants to be a dark mage. He thinks I don’t approve because I have something against dark magic.” Sylvain gave a small defeated smile. “I honestly don’t care. But I’ve seen what it does. His fingers are already going black. Recently I saw him grab a boiled kettle. He didn’t even notice it was hot.”

“Can’t help you there. Tell him moderation. Buy him a staff. It does less damage if its channelled through an object instead of the body. Easier to control but less powerful. Also gives better range.” Felix was pouring the mix into a few cake pans. If Sylvain tried hard he thought he could almost smell the slightest hint of bitter sweet dark magic now that he knew to look for it.

He stayed a while longer. Felix worked ceaselessly. It seemed he’d traded his sword for a whisk (Though Sylvain noticed he still had one on his hip. _Does he sleep with it?)_. Sleep started to creep up on Sylvain, catching himself nodding off and jolting upright.

“Go to bed. I won’t be done for a few more hours.”

“But you look almost finished.” The tins were in the oven and some of the ingredients were packed away.

“Decorating.”

Sylvain found it hard to imagine Felix with a piping bag making delicate flowers or overly ornate lettering, but he’d seen the cake that previous morning and it’s not like they just appear and wrap themselves in fondant on their own. Sylvain would have liked to see if Felix came at the task with the same narrow focus as he once took with a blade. His eyes started shutting against his will.

Sylvain wished Felix a good night and shuffled back to his couch. He slept peacefully, at some point in the night Felix had lit the fire to keep the cottage warm.

When Sylvain woke to screaming he bolted up. It was early morning, the dawn sun shone through the windows. He raced toward the source up the stairs to a small room. Glenn had beaten him too it. The small boy was clutching at Felix and shaking him while he groaned painfully in his sleep.

Sylvain sat at the edge of the bed. “You should go back to your bed. I’ll help your dad.” He tried to sound reassuring and gentle. “Please. It’ll be okay.” He urged. Glenn nodded silently and left.

Felix continues the groan in his sleep but he does not scream again. He pleads with some unseen person. Cries for their mercy. Apologises for the thing that he did. Weeps so hard his body shakes with it.

Sylvain stayed in his spot. Just waiting it out. When Felix woke, it was to his watchful gaze.

“Night terrors.” Sylvain stated it plainly.

Felix’s face took on a brief moment of panic. “Is Glenn okay?” He spoke quickly. He can see that he’s kicked off the blanket and a pillow has been thrown or kicked across the room. He’s been here before. Knows how bad he can get.

“Yes. I sent him back to his room.”

“Thank you. I keep telling him not to wake me during them. He doesn’t understand.” Felix was now sitting up, legs crossed, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I know. I had to keep my door locked for the first few years. It’s hard for them to see us in pain. They don’t realise it doesn’t help.” Sylvain remembered their scared faces when they’d tried. Before he realised he needed to keep them out. Time had helped, he dreamt less with each passing day.

“Each night I go to sleep and I’m…” Felix didn’t finish. Just shook his head.

“Terrified he’ll try to wake you from it and you’ll lash out before you come back to your senses.” Sylvain knew how stubborn the night terrors were. One couldn’t just be woken and be fine. There was always a delay between his eyes and his brain. It was worse, so much worse to be interrupted.

Felix nodded. “During the war it was never a problem. I was _fine._ ”

“I know. It took a while for it to really do it’s damage. Mine started a month after the official peace. I dreamt about the Taltean Plains mostly.”

Felix grunted. “Arianrhod.”

Sylvain didn’t press. Didn’t need to. He didn’t move to leave either. Felix didn’t want Glenn to see him like this but it didn’t mean he didn’t need someone.

“You should try to go back to sleep. I’ll be right here if you’ll let me.”

Felix didn’t move for a moment. He was so tired. The dark circles under his eyes so pronounced that it was as though someone had swiped charcoal dusted fingers there.

“Please Felix. Rest.” A hand came to sit on his shoulder. He couldn’t fight it. There had been too many early mornings like this in a row after late nights that extended past sunrise. Sylvain hadn’t woken the day before to it, only because Felix had been mercifully quiet in his suffering.

Sylvain gently pushed Felix back toward the remaining pillow. Before Felix can completely fall back to sleep, exhaustion pulling heavily against his entire being, he slips out “Go check on Glenn. Then come back.” Even if it’s a murmur it still comes off as a command. Sylvain pats him lightly on the shoulder before he goes.

Glenn is in the room next door. He’s laying in hit cot clutching his blanket tightly. Eye’s trained alert to the doorway when Sylvain appears. Sylvain stands there, they acknowledge each other silently.

Glenn won’t ask so Sylvain simply says “Felix… your father, he’s okay. I’ll make sure he’s okay.” The small child nods once. Sylvain takes a step into the room, waits to see if that’s acceptable, Glenn shows no signs of discomfort, so he continues to the bed.

“A long time ago your dad had some pretty rough times. He tries not to remember them but that doesn’t work so well when you’re asleep.”

Glenn nods again. Sylvain sits at the edge of the bed. He hopes that it’s comforting instead weird. Glenn hasn’t met many people in his short life, Sylvain doesn’t know what he must think of this guy who’s just appeared in his house and his life.

“When these things happen in our sleep, we need to remember them. But we have to do it alone. I know you want to keep your dad safe, but the best thing you can do is keep him safe during the day.” It’s the same talk he had to give his own kids. “I know it’s confusing. And it really sucks to watch. But all you can do is watch out for him when he’s awake. While I’m here I’ll try to keep him safe at night or whatever time he chooses to sleep. Okay?”

Glenn just stares at him for a moment before he repeats in a tiny unsure voice “okay.” Sylvain gives him a small smile and pats his head then leaves.

When he returns to Felix he isn’t fully asleep. His eyes are half lidded and watching as Sylvain enters the room. Sylvain collects the discarded pillow and puts it on the bed and then pulls the blanket up over Felix. “Glenn’s alright. I can leave after you fall asleep.” He says.

“Don’t bother.” And in Felix language Sylvain knows he’s asking him to stay. Sylvain pulls himself onto the bed beside him, over the blanket. He listens for Felix’s breath to even out before he fully commits to the idea of sleep.

Sylvain wakes alone in Felix’s bed. He wakes to loud noises in the kitchen, bad ones. He reaches under the bed and pulls out a sword because of course Felix keeps a sword under his bed. He runs downstairs. Sylvain crouches by the doorway leading into the kitchen and he can hear Felix.

“Who sent you?” His voice is low and cold and threatening, just like how Sylvain remembers during the last days of the war.

A man replies “You thought you could hide from your past. Many people want your blood. It matters not who my employer is.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Felix grits out.

“Like I said. It doesn’t matter.”

“Fine. Lose your life over it.” Sylvain hears objects clattering to the ground. He ducks his head to pear through the entryway. Felix has him pinned to the kitchen bench. He’s wrestling a sword from the assailants hands. He holds it to his throat. “Last chance to give me their name.”

The attacker spits. “You’ll kill me either way. So do it, coward.”

And Felix slices his neck without hesitation.

Blood jolts out of the man’s body, it covers Felix and pools on the counter. The man coughs and gurgles for a minute before the life completely drains from him. He dies on the floor choking on his own blood and grasping at his neck as if to feebly will it to stay in his veins.

Felix looks up to Sylvain standing in the doorway. “Does this happen often?”

“No.”

“Who was he?”

“Not the merchant.” Felix replies as he starts searching the unknown man’s pockets, looking for anything to identify him. Searching for clues as to who could have found him.

“Where’s Glenn?” He asks Sylvain.

Sylvain looks back out into the living room and sees the small white head of hair peering from the top of the stairway. Sylvain releases a relieved sigh, he was listening but from that angle that’s all he could do.

“He didn’t see anything.”

Felix nods. He calls out “Glenn, go to your room. Don’t leave until I come for you.”

Sylvain hears the footsteps run away to do as he was told.

Sylvain closes the door as he enters the kitchen turned murder scene. Felix pulls out a dagger from the body’s boot and inspects it. “One of Dietrich’s men.”

He thinks he’s heard that name before. “Organised Bandits. Mercenaries. Assassins.” Felix elaborates.

“But why are they trying to kill you now? It sounds like you haven’t been involved in any of that stuff for a while.”

“Apparently, someone found me.” Felix turns cold eyes to him.

“Whoa there buddy! I’d never sell you out like that. You know that.” He has his hands up in surrender. He drops the sword he was holding.

“But how did you find me?” Felix’s eyes are narrowed. He’s covered in a dead man’s blood, still holding the dagger and looks ready to strike if Sylvain gives him the slightest reason to.

“Hubert. I got him to help me.”

“And how did he find me?”

“I don’t know. He has spies everywhere. He finds people, that’s all I know! I swear!” Sylvain stands completely still while he watches Felix decide what to do next.

Felix makes a ‘Hmph’ sound. “I guess my merchant is probably dead.” He pulls off a chunk of the cake he had on the bench, ready for a delivery that would never be. The white fondant stained red in area within the splash zone radius.

“Felix, do you have reason to believe you’re being hunted?”

Felix chews and swallows. “Yes.” Followed by “I’ll have to bury that. Somewhere in the woods away from the house.” He nudges the body. “Don’t want to attract demonic beasts.

“You need to leave. If people know where you are then you need to get out of here.”

Felix doesn’t react. Just continues eating his cake with bloody hands. Sylvain doesn’t understand what’s going on.

“Please Felix.” He feels like from the moment he saw Felix all he does is plead with him.

“And where will I go. If they can find me here they can find me anywhere.” He wipes his hands against the deadman’s coat and moves to the sink to wash them properly.

“Come home with me.”

“No.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“Wait for them to come. Kill them like the beasts they are.” He hisses.

“What about Glenn?”

Felix lets the waters continue to run but he’s stopped moving his hands under it.

“I can’t leave.”

Sylvain is frustrated. He could punch through a wall. It made no sense. They needed to leave or he’d die. What’s so hard to understand about that?

Felix shuts off the water. He rests his hands either side of the sink and hangs his head between his shoulders.

“I can’t leave her behind. In the garden. Under a tree. It hasn’t even had time to grow properly yet. I can’t do that.”

Something flares up in Sylvain. It curls low inside his chest, angry. He’s heard this kind of talk before. He marches over to Felix, stepping over the body and grabs him by the shoulder so he can face him.

“No. You – of all people don’t get to say that. I’ve lost enough friends to ghosts. You told Dimitri” His name catches in Sylvain’s throat. A word he hasn’t spoken in years. “You told Dimitri the dead are dead. He didn’t listen. He’s gone now. Are you going to die for your loyalty to a corpse? Is that it? Are you gonna leave Glenn behind with no one left?” It’s too harsh but he can’t stop. Sylvain leaned closer. “You don’t get to do that. Not anymore. You aren’t the only one effected by your choices. I won’t watch another person I love die for this.”

“Then close your eyes or leave already. Get out of my house.”

“I won’t.” The way Sylvain stares so intensely it makes Felix turn his own gaze to the floor.

“…”

“You said she taught you the value of life.” Sylvain’s words hit him hard. “She wouldn’t want this for you. Or her son.” Sylvain doesn’t think he’s ever sounded so venomous, his voice doesn’t even sound like his own anymore.

_Silence._

Sylvain’s hands come to grasp Felix’s face, holding it between them. “Come back with me to Gautier. You’ll both be safe there.” He’s pleading. Sylvain can hear his own desperation.

“You don’t know what kind of people I pissed off.” Felix whispers.

“So, we’ll handle it. With guards. Security. Knights. Our friends. We could go back and gather our bearings. Make a plan and strike them first. We’ll work it out.” Sylvain rests his forehead to Felix’s. “Come home with me.”

Sylvain hadn’t noticed when Felix’s own hands had come up to grasp his shirt. Holding the fabric tightly. They breathe together for a brief moment that feels too long. And then Felix tugs down.

Their mouths brush together as he serges up to meet Sylvain’s. It’s a gentle, fragile thing. Felix pulls away slowly, unsure. There’s a dead man in the kitchen and the threat of looming death and if Sylvain’s eyes hadn’t been open he wouldn’t have believed it even happened.

Felix doesn’t move again. Just stays with his eyes closed where he is. Sylvain’s hands on his face pull him back up and he kisses him again. They move more desperately now, filled with years of unfulfilled longing and grief and fear for the future. Sylvain is pinning him against the edge of the sink with his entire body.

Felix gasps for breath and Sylvain takes advantage of the opening to deepen the kiss. He wants to run his hands across Felix’s body, make sure this is real and not a dream, but he wants to keep them on his face as well. He settles the difference and slots a thigh between Felix’s legs. The contact makes him open his mouth to gasp again and Sylvain bites his lip.

He can feel Felix through his trousers getting hard. He moves a hand to the back of Felix’s neck and manoeuvres his head back to kiss his bared neck. He nips and sucks at the column of his throat while Felix gasps and writhes under him, fisting his shirt in one hand while the other takes a handful of red hair. The sink is digging into his back and he doesn’t care. There’s blood all over the floor and a corpse and in this moment, Felix couldn’t give less of a shit.

Sylvain is undoing the buttons on his shirt and Felix lets it happen. Sylvain feels desperate, it’s the combination of the dry streak running from the moment the first child followed by nine turned up his door, and the fact that _its Felix_. Untouchable, distant Felix is sighing under his mouth and letting his hands trail down his bare chest.

In the remaining rational corner of his mind Felix knew this wasn’t the time or place. But the feral part was much louder as it saw Sylvain’s hands go to the fastenings on his pants. Pausing long enough for him to reject it as Sylvain gazed into his eyes in a silent plea for permission. After a beat Sylvain continued.

As soon as they were undone Sylvain’s knees hit the floor. He’s being driven by the pure instinct that he _wants._ He wants to have as much of Felix as he can take and sear into his memory. To feel him present with his entire being. Sylvain nuzzles into his thigh. Blood transfers from the fabric onto his cheek and Felix looks like he’s not even on the same plain of existence anymore. It’s feral. He can’t get enough.

Sylvain grasps his open pants and pulls them below him hip and instantly he’s mouthing at Felix’s cock. When he takes it in his mouth Felix lets out low quiet moan, his hands white knuckle gripping the counter ledge either side himself as Sylvain sucks him down as far as his throat will allow.

He’s done this before. Been on his knees for another man. But it never felt like this. Sylvain is lost in the act of giving pleasure, he doesn’t even notice his own arousal anymore. There’s only Felix and the weight of him on his tongue, in his mouth. Filling him. He wants Felix to grab his hair and _take._ Wants his voice raw for days afterward to be reminded of the events transpiring in his bloody kitchen in the middle of nowhere.

Sylvain reaches for one of Felix’s hands, guides it to the back of his head, feels it tangle in his hair and maintains eye contact the entire time as he bobs up and down his length. Sylvain wants to tell Felix how beautiful he looks like this. The flush of his cheeks and slightly swollen pink lips parted as tries and fails to control his breathing. He uses his hands to communicate, worshipping that lithe scar riddled body as they rove over his tensed muscles from his ribs down to his stomach and lower, grasping at his thighs and hips. Anywhere he can touch.

Sylvain can feel the tension growing. Knows Felix must be close. The taste in his mouth is bitter from pre-come but he doesn’t care even slightly. Sylvain can see what he’s doing to him. His eyes don’t leave Sylvain for even a moment and he finally feels seen. He didn’t even realise how much he craved it but now that he has Felix’s attention so utterly and entirely he never wants it to leave.

He grips Felix’s thighs hard and relaxes his throat best he can and takes him deeper, watching his reaction. Sylvain feels shallow shaking thrusts. Felix chokes out his name and weakly tugs at his hair, warning him but Sylvain doesn’t relent.

Sylvain swallows every last bitter drop of him. He’ll do it even if it chokes him, the look on Felix’s face and his own satisfaction make it worth it.

Felix lost the grip his remaining hand had on the ledge and his knees went weak. He slid to the floor, meeting Sylvain there. Feelings he thought he buried in the mass graves of Tailtean Plain where he’d last abandoned his honour and his entire life come rushing back to him.

Sylvain was now clutching his hand. “Say you’ll come back with me.” _To me._

“Fine. Tomorrow. We’ll leave tomorrow. I need time to say goodbye. So will Glenn.” He tried to say it nonchalantly. He fails. Sylvain strokes his thumb against the back of his hand.

They spend the next hour collecting anything they might need from the kitchen. They shut the blinds and line tea towels around the pool of blood to make sure it can’t spread far enough to get under the door. The floor had a slight incline and the sheer volume of it produced a risk. They both know in their world seeing violent death is inevitable, but they could shield their children just a little longer.

Sylvain hoped Glenn hadn’t smelt enough blood to know the scent of death. He didn’t need to know what happened to the man in the kitchen, even if he had it coming.

Sylvain pre-emptively loaded the items they had ready, mostly “not cursed” kitchenware and swords, onto the wagon that had been part of the dead man’s merchant disguise.

Felix and Glenn sat beside a small tree with pink leaves, only about four feet tall. It was toward the very back of the fenced off garden. Felix talked to it. Talked to Lysithea. Glenn just listen and fiddled with fallen leaves and sticks around him.

Felix was so quiet as he spoke and Sylvain couldn’t help but feel he was intruding on his privacy as he listened to him. He said that he missed her. That he probably always would. He was thankful for all she gave him. He was sorry he’d never see her tree grow along with Glenn like they planned in her final days. He told her he loved her.

And Sylvain accepted that. Because it was true, and he was happy that for at least a while Felix had known peace the way it was meant to be. He was thankful they had met and built this life even if it was fleeting. Without Lysithea Felix would have died some terrible death chasing release from his pain, Sylvain would be left with only the jacket from the back of his chair the night he disappeared to remember him by and bitter memories. Sylvain wished she could have lived longer, he would have given Felix up if it meant he could have had true happiness. He’d learnt love wasn’t about what he wanted for himself, it wasn’t meant to be something selfishly taken to fill the holes in his heart. It was about putting someone else first and giving them your best.

Lysithea had stitched the shredded ribbons of Felix back together during those lost years. Given him a piece of her heart and watched it grow into a whole in that empty cavity left by war and death. It wasn’t Sylvain’s to claim. He knew this. But if there was a place for him in there, he would take what he could get, if Felix would have him.

They freed the chickens into the wild in the evening.

“They’re gonna die out there.” Sylvain joked.

“It’s more for Glenn then anything.” Felix replied as the small child waved goodbye the confused birds, instead of venturing into the woods they gathered around the edges of the fence, curiously pecking at it.

Sylvain slept on the couch that night so that Glenn could sleep in his parents’ bed on last time.

They woke at first light to set out as soon as possible. Lingering after goodbyes only hurt more. Glenn and Felix had taken a few minutes to sadly admire their home before climbing onto the wagon. Sylvain prepared the horse he had ridden there on just a few days prior.

For the duration of the journey Sylvain rode his horse along side the wagon. Sometimes he would fill the void with chatter about the current on goings within the empire. Felix was drained, each mile they travelled further away seemed to take a little more of his spirit. Sylvain wondered if he was mourning her again.

Their intimacy was limited to brushes of hands and pats on the shoulder. It was enough. And it wasn’t. There were more important things to worry about. Feeding and watering the horses. Finding a place to stay each night, making sure the map they were using was held in the correct orientation. Telling Glenn myths and legends with embellishments because honestly Sylvain thought they could be better. Every now and then he’d catch Felix smirking when he decided to add side plots such as the disastrous wedding of Loog and Kyphon that definitely happened.

When they entered Gautier territories Sylvain couldn’t help the feeling of relief being closer to home brought him. He would be with his family soon and as much as he treasured his journey and rekindling whatever it was he had with Felix, he missed his children terribly. He worried what disasters must have taken place since his departure. He wouldn’t be surprised if some part of the estate had burned to the ground or if the majority of them were recovering from food poisoning after Andrea had attempted to cook a “meal”. That child enjoyed experimentation and lacked a certain sense of reasonable boundaries.

Back at the Gautier estate Lucien had not slept in three days. He claimed he could smell colours. At no point since father’s departure had he had a single moment alone. Not a single moment of rest. Not a single moment’s break from the incessant sound of the Goddess. Damned. Fipple. Flute. Lucien’s room was no longer his own, it was no place for children but they got in anyway, next thing he knew one is on the ground covered in a rash, another is throwing up violently on his rug, yet another of Sylvain’s near endless supply of kids is almost pissing herself laughing at the other two. Apparently brightly coloured liquids said “drink me” not “I’m an experimental poison”.

On the bright side he’s made a breakthrough. In his makeshift lab Lucien has found a method of extracting the pure caffeine from coffee into a concentrated powdered form which he drank in juice near constantly to keep sleep away. Coffee was such foul stuff but he needed to be alert. The moment he went to sleep something went wrong. It always went wrong. Father employed extra staff to account for the attention required by the hoard, he hadn’t counted on them making a sport of picking them off one by one until they’d all quit.

When Lucien first heard the sound of the gate being lifted he wanted to run to the door. Not to greet his beloved father, no, to slug him as hard in the face as his drained body would allow. He couldn’t run. He just trudged up to the main entrance, pushing the doorman out of the way. He could open his own damned door.

Lucien couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw his father standing there with yet _another_ child in his arms. Sure, it didn’t have the trademark red hair but Lucien had read about albinism and it was pretty easy to identify on the kid. He was almost about to cry. Not another one. Please anything but another one.

“Father why!” He cried. “Wasn’t ten enough? Ten’s a nice round number. Ten would be more than enough for anyone else. Goddess why is my father such a whore?” Lucien looked to the sky in defeat. Did they even have enough rooms anymore?

Before Sylvain could speak a certain dark haired man came up beside him and lifted the child into his own arms. “Don’t worry, he’s mine.” He rolled his eyes.

“Ah! This is my eldest. Lucien.” Sylvain made a proud gesture toward his absolutely dead on the inside son. He was giddy like a child showing their first clay sculpture _look what I did! Isn’t it fantastic._

He continued, “And this is my dearest…friend! My dearest friend Felix.” And he gestured in the same manner.

There was a pause when no one spoke until Lucien bursted out “You’re Felix! You’re that guy he talks about when he’s drunk!”

Sylvain flushed and shouted “I don’t.”

“No. No. He absolutely does. Last time Ingrid was here he got absolutely _hammered_ and I had to carry him to a bath.”

“Lucien Stop.” Sylvain pleaded but his son just barrelled on ahead.

“And he got in fully clothed. Started splashing his arms about saying ‘I getting both me and my clothes clean’ over and over again.”

“And that’s it that’s the entire story.” Sylvain said as he turned to Felix. He attempted to put his hands over Felix’s ears but he felt a very strong stomp to his foot. A toe was probably fractured.

“Anyway. Then he breaks down into tears. I mean absolutely bawling. Inconsolable. You know what he said?” Lucien took a deep breath because he was talking a hundred miles an hour. “I’ll tell you what he said. ‘You know who used to stare at me all disappointed just like that? Felix.’ Cue the water works. Cue the water works for three goddess damned hours before he cried himself hard enough to sleep. The entire time he whined about this guy who left him at the end of the war like he was gonna marry him or something.”

“Lets go inside. C’mon Felix, Lucien, let’s just stop talking and go inside. I think that’s a great idea. And it’s my territory so I guess we all have to do it!” Sylvain declared as he pushed past Lucien into the house and marched on ahead.

“You can do whatever you want, I’m going to sleep.” Lucien disappeared to his room while shouting “Dad’s home. Go say hi. First floor sitting room!” So that the children could go bother someone else for a change.

They sat down in the front room made for entertaining guests. Felix and little Glenn’s heads both turned about, listening to the storm of footsteps that seemed to be coming closer. It was as though wild horses were bounding down the stairs from the upper levels. Whooping and shouting followed by the sound of something glass smashing on the floor and a shouted “Sorry!” amongst the clatter. Horror was dawning in Felix’s eyes. He remembered young Sylvain, had lived through it.

There were nine of them coming. Nine!

Felix learnt that day that each and every one of Sylvain’s spawn had about as much understanding of boundaries as their father. None. They piled onto Sylvain the moment they saw him. Apparently, one had decided to teach the some of the others how to play an end-blown flute. It was like a chorus of demons. They were very proud.

Eventually their focus switched from their dad to the guests. Glenn took surprisingly well to other children. Felix had worried that he would find being around others to be too much of a shock but instead he seemed content silently to follow them around. He was always more curious than he was afraid of the world around him.

Felix on the other hand was terrified. Each child was a new and horrific variation of Sylvain. They all tried to hug him. One of the older ones who must have been around thirteen held out a hand and then when he took it to shake – thinking finally a civilised one – the kid had the gall to forcefully pull him into a hug and slap him on the back. Hard.

They had a tendency to ask him weirdly invasive questions like “If you had to choose a testicle to cut off which one would you choose? Personally, I’d choose the left”. At least two of them knew of Felix the same way that Lucien knew of him. One had pulled him aside and asked him what his intentions with their father was, apparently having interpreted Sylvain’s drunken weepings as a really bad break up.

Eventually the hoard managed to exhaust itself. Yes “itself” because at times the mass of children seemed to be one hivemind working like a well oiled machine to annoy him. Finally, Felix and Sylvain were alone, Felix was packing away the kitchen tools he’d taken into a cupboard he’d warded and attached locks to. The entire time he was doing so he was relentlessly asked inane questions until Sylvain took them all outside to play dodgeball. Of course, they’d like throwing hard leather skins pumped solid with air at each other with all the strength they could muster. After that Sylvain left to bath and then came back and made them both tea.

“I’m surprised you haven’t run away yet.” Sylvain said over his teacup.

Felix shrugged. “Do a lot of people run the other way nowadays? Must have lost some of your charm.”

“Nah. They just don’t like the idea that their kid is gonna get the same cut of the inheritance as the rest of them.” Sylvain laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I once had a woman who’d desperately been trying to get me to marry her just storm out without a word. She said “even the bastards from commoners?” and when I said yes she just couldn’t believe it. Thought I was absolutely insane.”

“Sharing evenly is pretty unheard of.” Felix conceded.

“Titles won’t mean anything in a few generations. It seems ridiculous for one to have more than the others on the grounds that they just happened to be born first. I want all my children to feel as though I loved them equally.” Sylvain didn’t care what the old guard thought of his lifestyle and he didn’t need their approval. Sure, no one was putting their hand out for his ring anymore but who needs a wife when you have ten children to take away any ounce of a personal life. Obviously, having an heir to house Gautier wasn’t going to be a problem either.

“Hmm. That’s just like you.” And Felix takes a long draw of his tea.

Sylvain enjoyed the silence, just being together, for a moment.

“Why did you come find me?” Felix breaks the silence.

“I told you, I wanted to see you. Make sure you were alive.”

“Yeah, sure. It’s been five years. Why now?”

“Oh! Right! I totally forgot all about it.”

“Forgot about what?” Felix sounded suspicious.

“Hubert and Ferdinand are getting hitched. Its gonna be like a Black Eagles Strike Force reunion. I mean like half the Empire and anyone with an ounce of influence is also gonna be there as well. Really big like massive celebration. Ferdinand must be amazing in bed or something, I don’t know how he swung it with Hubert.” Sylvain leaned against the wall as he spoke, animatedly waving his arms. He then turned more shy and then solemn. “And I just thought you know… it wouldn’t be much of a reunion without you. It’d been so long and it just… it just sucked the way you left…”

“I know it did.”

“It’s okay. I was mad for a long time, but it’s fine because you’re here now.” _Alive. In my home._

“You know, you don’t need to forgive me. You’re allowed to be upset.” Felix was sounding strangely defensive.

“It takes too much energy. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely think things could have been handled better but it’s in the past now. We just keep pushing on. Enjoy the world around you instead of thinking too hard about what it could’ve been.” And Felix found it so odd to hear Sylvain like this, changed by the years he missed. They both had.

Life is too short. This is something Sylvain has always believed. Getting rejected is part of finding success. Give no shits. All important ideals. Which is why he gathers every scrap of courage he has when he asks Felix the next question.

  
“It’s okay if it’s something you don’t want or maybe the adrenaline got to you… when we did what we did. I won’t blame you if you say no. But can I kiss you again?”

As soon as he asks a hand fisting his shirt and he’s pulled down in a viscous and needy kiss. Teacups set aside. Somehow he expects nothing less of Felix. Sylvain just goes with it and gives as good as he gets. Sylvain is pushed against the wall he was leaning against. He laughs.

“What?”

Sylvain just smiles and shakes his head. “Looks like we have a bit of a theme, we’re in the kitchen again. No dead body this time.”

“Such a shame.” Felix smiles back.

Sylvain quirks an eyebrow. “Weird but I can work with it. Tell me, does the sword stay on during sex?”

“You’re not getting penetrated any other way.” And Sylvain holds him close as he laughs into his hair.

“I see. So, I guess I can assume I’ll be doing all the work then.” He moves his hands down to Felix’s ass and gropes it.

Felix’s eyes went wide and he turned his head to the side, a blush dusting his cheeks. “not what I meant.”

The moment is ruined when one over tired fifteen year old enters the room only to say “Goddess dammit. This is where food is made.” And leave.

“Your kid’s right.”

Of course, Felix would side with Lucien. No fun allowed.

“Then maybe you’d like to see my room.” Sylvain breathes hotly into Felix’s ear. Felix supresses a shiver.

“Sure.” It was meant to come out bored, but all Sylvain heard was need.

As soon as they enter Sylvain’s quarters they lock the door behind them. Felix has him pined against the door and biting into his neck, and _wow its really doing it for me huh_ is all Sylvain can think. It pulls a hot heady groan at the contact.

Quick hands work against the buttons on his shirt and he does nothing to slow Felix down, even joins in the effort to relieve himself of his own shirt as he ducks his head down, needing Felix’s mouth against his own.

If Sylvain is honest, and really that isn’t all too often, only when it counts, he is a betting man. And a large part of him had hoped Felix wanted him back the way he wants him. The hope was enough for him to plan ahead. Just in case.

After he gets Felix’s shirt removed from his frankly astonishing body and has a hand down his open pants, grasping his hard cock, he breaks the kiss and murmurs into Felix’s lips “I want you.”

“You already have me.” Felix whispers it as Sylvain moves his hand along his shaft.

“I want you.” Sylvain punctuates it by grabbing Felix’s hand and putting it on his ass. “To fuck me.”

Felix’s eyes are wide, pupils so completely and utterly blown. He looks like he didn’t expect this at all, but Goddess does he want it. All he can do is nod.

“Good.” Sylvain pulls him toward his bed and lays down on it on his back. With a certain amount of uncertainty Felix puts himself kneeling above Sylvain. He helps him remove his pants. Has to reposition himself to take his own off.

Faced with the reality of being intimate with Sylvain he finds himself feeling shy but Sylvain won’t have it. He takes the lead from Felix, touching him all over, guiding him to sit between his open legs. Wraps them around Felix and grasps their cocks together as he jerks them off together and then stops suddenly. Felix pants hard when he does.

“You know what I want.” Sylvain nips at his ear and Felix sharply inhales. Sylvain reaches blindly for the oil on his night stand he used earlier when he bathed and got himself ready for this. Truly a betting man through and through.

Sylvain slicks up Felix’s cock. Then he slips two fingers into himself just to make sure. Sylvain had sure learnt there were a lot of ways for this to go wrong. He really didn’t want to think about it now. He puts in a third finger, stretches himself out all while Felix watches him like it hottest damn thing he’s ever seen. Sylvain is arching his back and pushing himself back onto his hand. It might not have been the best or most comfortable part of the process, but he knows he looks pretty damn fine while he does it. Sees how hard Felix is from the sight of him fucking himself on his fingers.

Sylvain pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheet. With his other hand he grabs Felix by the back of the neck to pull his lips to his own. Whispers he’s ready.

Felix has found his nerve again and grabs one of Sylvain’s muscled cavalier thighs, pulls his leg over his shoulder so Sylvain’s hole is more open and accessible. Sylvain has the other leg hooked along Felix’s flank and just from the position he feels absolutely lewd.

Felix says as much when murmurs “look at you. Spreading yourself like this.” As he pushes his cock against Sylvain’s entrance. He wants to avert eye contact but when Sylvain grabs his face with both hands so he can look into his eyes, he can’t escape.

Despite all the preparation it still hurts, but that doesn’t mean it feels bad. Felix reaches down and starts to lazily jerk Sylvain’s cock as he slowly sinks into him. When he bottoms out Sylvain lets out a small moan and arches his spine a little as if to take him just a bit deeper.

Coherent thought is really fucking hard right now. Felix is all around him, inside him. He keeps holding onto Felix’s face, he won’t give him the chance to look away. Sylvain’s determined to watch Felix as he sees himself fuck Sylvain. See the way he processes every moment. Burn it into his retinas and etch it permanently into his mind.

“Put my other leg on your shoulder.” The sentence is broken by panting breathes and gasps because Felix is experimentally thrusting into him.

Felix grunts, stops for a moment and lifts his other leg. It’s a significant weight but he’ll make it work. The way Sylvain is being bent in half makes it worth it. If it hadn’t, the way Sylvain sobs his name from the new angle certainly did.

“Please” Sylvain pants up at him, brow tensed in pleasure, eye’s glazed over as he says in a wrecked voice “Harder. Faster. Felix, please.”

And Felix is nothing if not obliging. He loses himself, fucking Sylvain hard and fast like he wants. Worships his neck with his lips. Bites him possessively and Sylvain couldn’t be more pleased with the result of his begging.

He can feel tension building up in the pit of his stomach. Felix is still working his hand on his cock, the other has nails sunk into one of his thighs to keep it secured. Sylvain bares his neck as he arches hard into the prelude to his orgasm, basks it’s heat. Lips move along his adam’s apple and then teeth.

It’s too much. Every point of contact between them burns with need, heat, want. Longing. Felix’s fist on his cock is becoming messy and erratic in its movements despite his hips still keeping the pace even and rhythmic. Sylvain knows he must be close as well.

He tightens himself on Felix and grinds his hips back into him. The room is silent except the sounds of their heavy breaths and wet sound of skin against skin.

Sylvain can’t stop the small moans escaping his throat, they only spur Felix on, he moves his lips up to Sylvain’s and kisses them out of him. His hand comes off Sylvain’s thigh and tangles with one of Sylvain’s own. It drives Sylvain over the edge. He comes with a shout, orgasm ripping through him. His body shudders with it as Felix keeps thrusting into him. Sylvain makes an effort to drive back into them. He wants to feel the moment Felix finishes.

He’s becoming more erratic as he brushes his lips along Sylvain’s jaw. Sylvain knows he won’t ask so he says it of his own accord. “Come inside me. I want it.” He smiles as he says it. Felix goes back to his mouth and Sylvain sucks at his lips as Felix groans into him. He gasps and pants through it. Sylvain can feel the way it throbs through him. Enjoys watching him come undone.

When Felix stills Sylvain slide’s his legs off his shoulders. They both hear his hip click as they rest on the bed. Felix rolls his shoulders and one of them pops.

Suddenly they can’t stop laughing.

“Getting old?” Felix says with a smirk.

“I think we both are.” Sylvain grins back. “But I’m glad I get to be an old man with you.”

“…me too.” It makes something happy and sharp pulse in Sylvain’s chest.

Felix is laying on his side next to him, looking at him. His eyes warm with the affection Sylvain had craved for so long. Sylvain weaved one of their hands into another.

He knew everything would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING THIS.  
> I legit wrote this over two days. Apparently I write fan fiction this week to deal with my insomnia. One time a made a sweater out of old school socks.  
> Image all of Sylvain's children are playing the penny whistle solo to my heart will go on
> 
> Edit: I have [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bepsismax) where sometimes I sketch FE3H characters


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